Four Scenes We Didn't See In Outcast
by Kristen999
Summary: Missing scenes from “Outcast”. Sheppard, Ronon, Rodney, Teyla-Friendship


Title: Four Scenes We Didn't See In Outcast

Author: Kristen999

Categories: Drama, Angst

Summary: Missing scenes for "Outcast"

Disclaimer: None of them belong to me. No profit intended.

* * *

Ronon picks himself off the floor, wincing at sore muscles and rubbing his throat ruefully. He's better with words then people give him credit for, but they only work on those who are comforted by them. Sheppard's catching his breath, hands pressed to his knees so Ronon sticks out a hand to help pull his friend to his feet. 

He waits, knowing its coming and catches Sheppard when he warbles unsteadily. His friend leans on him just enough to gather his strength and capture all those swirling thoughts.

Sheppard grunts his thanks, dusts off his vest and BDUs as if that'll take care of the rest of the baggage he carries around. "I'll call a med team for the others."

That's typical Sheppard behavior but Ronon wanders over to look for his blaster while John checks on the Marines. He finds his weapon, keeps an eye on Ava while a team sweeps in to clean up.

"We've verified the replicator burned up in the atmosphere. That was a good idea," Bates tells the colonel.

"Thanks."

Sheppard looks aged beyond his years, walking stiffly around, unable to stand up straight. Bates notices it too. He has that apprehensive expression that many get when debating about how to deal with Sheppard.

Ronon simply guides the pilot towards one of the medics, not giving him a say in it like he did back in the gate room.

"I'm getting too old to be thrown into walls," Sheppard defends himself, voice harsh and raspy.

There's nothing else to do so Ronon listens to Agent Bates talk about the time when he was a Sergeant on Atlantis. At first it seems like that his CO and the former security officer never got along. It's not very surprising; there are a lot of things Sheppard says and does that are insane. That's where trust comes in.

In between all the tales of disagreements and down right hostility, is a voice filled with admiration.

"You miss it?" Ronon asks.

Bates rolls his eyes. "You kidding me? Worrying about being killed by space vampires, stranded and cut off from home and thinking the very next day might be my last?"

Ronon waits.

"All the time."

They have to pack in it and return to the Apollo. They're told Sheppard has a bruised larynx, pulled muscles in his back and a sore rib.

"He should take it easy," the medic says. "He seems exhausted."

Ronon and Bates look at each other knowing that'll never happen.

Back in orbit, Ronon stares in awe at a planet never tainted by the Wraith. Earth people live every day totally unaware of the danger and death that destroys whole worlds. The population is clueless about the sacrifices made to keep them all safe and by such a select few.

Sheppard has unfinished business to deal with before they leave. It must be odd to try and cram four years of missing conversations with a man that is blood kin but doesn't behave much like a brother.

He doesn't get up when Sheppard heads back down, Ronon simply looks at him, conveying support his in a way they both understand.

"Don't worry, I'll be..." the colonel pauses knowing better. "See you soon," he says instead.

Bates has paperwork or something to finish and walks over to Ronon before attending to it. "I have a feeling I don't need to say this out loud, but watch his back for us all when you leave."

"I always do."

* * *

John knows he has to do this and goes right up to the door, knocking without hesitation. It helps that his brother invites him, not that he expected the door to be slammed in his face.

"I have to leave in a couple of hours, but I thought we should finish our talk," he says.

There's a lot of irony in that statement since his skills lack in that area. He takes a seat on an over-sized sofa, unable to hide a grimace as the motion tweaks one of his many wrenched muscles.

"You want a drink? You look like you could use one," Dave says.

"No, thank you."

His brother remains standing, crossing his arms much like their dad used to when the old man was displeased. "Did you get done whatever was important enough to make you leave?"

John feels every one of his forty years and then some when he lets out a breath. "I didn't come here to fight."

"No, it looks like you got into one already," Dave frowns, stepping closer. "Damn, are those bruises around your throat?"

"I'm sure you and dad both imagined doing that to me at least once," John says and instantly regrets it. This is why he doesn't do 'this'... he screws it up too many times.

Dave looks horrified. "It was always pointless to argue with you...whatever dad or I might have said. You always came up with even worse things. I'm sure you even made yourself believe it over time."

John looks around at his former surroundings and everything here feels like a tourist attraction or a museum. Even a suit jacket and button-upped shirt feels foreign over his skin. It's one of the reasons why he lounges in t-shirts and BDUs even while off duty or why he hates his dress blues.

"Dad knew you made Lt. Colonel. He was proud of you even though he had no clue where you were stationed."

"He said that?"

"He didn't have to. It was in his eyes. You knew how he was about that type of stuff."

"I know," John says squirming.

"We often wondered if someone was going to knock on our door one day to tell us you went missing."

"I tried to spare you all of that."

"Is that your excuse?"

One of many, John thinks. After he had pushed them all away and they shoved back even harder---it was difficult to ever return.

"Of course with all your covert, top secret crap. I doubt we would ever be told the truth."

His brother's frustration is like a punch to the gut. He thinks about Ford's family and every other person who has died under his command—of grief that'll never have closure.

"Does it make you happy?"

The question catches him off guard and John looks up. "What?"

"Your job."

"Yes," he replies without a second thought. "It does."

"Maybe you're not so different from me and dad as you think."

It's because of other reasons all together John wants to tell him. There's a huge difference between creating artificial empires and protecting the remains of a real one.

They don't say goodbye, neither of them were ever very good at that. Dave goes to pat him on the shoulder, thinks better of it and John calls a taxi once he's outside.

* * *

Rodney found his time with those kids to be a little more tolerable then the last occasion he had been there. It could have been the absence of people trying to kill him, but he got their equipment working in under a day. News of Sheppard and Ronon's adventure had spread all over the city by the time their insane mission had ended.

"I would have helped you know," Rodney assails them. "I'm certainly better then Dr. Lee at cracking codes."

He helps carry the colonel's one duffel bag towards his quarters because it looks like Sheppard isn't capable of lifting much.

"We could have a late dinner," he suggests.

"Not very hungry."

"I'm sure you didn't eat between hunting replicators and going to your dad's...well...you know."

They are at Sheppard's door and he follows inside, depositing the bag to the floor without looking.

"Rodney. I'm tired, wound up, beat down and I just want to relax...by myself," Sheppard says the last part quietly.

"Sure...I understand."

He really does. They both don't do the emotional thing very well and even right now; Rodney's a good two feet away. His brain is screaming at him to make a hasty retreat, but a small part urges him on, to make a change.

"I'll get breakfast with you tomorrow," Sheppard says, looking bone weary and emotionally spent.

Rodney nods and they both just stand there.

"Um..McKay?"

"Oh, yes, right. Going now."

Except Rodney takes four very fast steps, gives Sheppard one of the most awkward hugs in the history of hugs. He even forces himself to actually squeeze a bit, put a little emotion in it. That's his sister's voice encouraging him. After the longest three seconds of his life, he breaks away, pats Sheppard's shoulder and gives him a brief smile.

"See ya in the morning."

His feet can't move fast enough once the door slides open, but he thinks he hears an uncomfortable thanks before they swish close behind him.

* * *

Teyla balances the tray with the kettle and cups while John acts as if everything is about to come crashing out of her hands. She wants to remind him that she's quite capable of carrying a few dishes and that this type of activity isn't going to induce her into labor. His behavior around her for the most part has remained the same, but its momentss like these, she wants to slap him on the wrist with one of her banto sticks.

There will be plenty of time to do that once her son is born.

"You don't have to do this," he says.

"I know John, you've said that...twice already."

He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another and she tells herself to be patient with him. This is just another culture thing he doesn't understand.

She smacks his hand away when he tries to take the pot. "I'm supposed to serve _you_."

"Right. I forgot."

Teyla takes a seat next to his desk, resting the tray. John sits one side of his bed, looking more relaxed now that she's off of her feet. "We drink to the memory of a loved one," she explains, pouring the brew into the cup. "We toast to their life, honor what they meant to us and celebrate their new journey."

John looks at his drink as if its filled with poison. "What is it?" She asks confused.

"Oh...its nothing," John says apologetically.

He's trying not to offend her. "Talk to me," Teyla says.

She's never seen him this tightly coiled, almost ready to snap at a moment's notice. His eyes get lost within the tea. "I've been running away from him my whole life."

There's raw pain in his strangled whisper, the china trembling between his fingers. "I'm sorry, Teyla. I'm ruining your ceremony."

"This is _your_ ceremony," she comforts, wrapping her fingers around the cup to hold it still. "I don't know the details of your troubles, but you don't have to run anymore."

Teyla brushes her fingers over his and gives them a slight squeeze. "You're home, John. It is okay to let things go."

He bows his head, still clutching the delicate cup between them. She presses her forehead into his hair and grabs a hold of his shoulder, feeling the tremors beneath her palm.

They stay that way for a few moments until his body slowly stills over time.

"Am I hurting your neck?" He asks.

Teyla chuckles. "Not really."

John lifts his head up, rubbing his face with his other hand. He nibbles on his bottom lip and brings up the cup. "To family."

Teyla smiles warmly. "To family," she says, clinking their cups together before drinking.


End file.
